


it’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Language, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Spoilers for Iron Man 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/405235"><i>so here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope</i></a>.</p><p>Tony thinks there’s got to be some kind of hidden meaning behind this kid, something the universe is trying to tell him that he’s been ignoring, that he’s made a little family for himself, him and Bruce and their bratty little college kid, and he thinks that’s why he doesn’t shake the kid loose, but instead lets him follow him around.  The panic attacks only get worse, and the kid—Harley, he thinks his name is—keeps pushing every button possible—New York, aliens, do you have PTSD, <i>wormhole</i>—until Tony feels like he’s been turned inside out, and all he can think about is Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [so here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/405235) by [sleeponrooftops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops). 



> Notes —
> 
> i. I really should have expected this to happen. I mean, honestly—did I really think I could go see _Iron Man 3_ without something happening? I thought I was just going to be doing Tony angst, AND THEN THAT SCENE AFTER THE CREDITS. I ALMOST SCREAMED. Literally, the weeks leading up to the release, I kept saying, _all I want is one look at Bruce, just one, just them hanging out in the Tower, just one_ , AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN. I GUESS DREAMS DO COME TRUE. I’m still freaking out, and I may still be shaking a little. Anyway, I guess that kind of says what I meant to? Yes, this is a science boyfriends, obviously, but this is also a continuation—of sorts—of _so here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope_. I was thinking, and I said to myself, _self, you should not do another building the relationship fic, you should do an in-progress relationship, and you should look at Tony like you looked at Bruce_ , and then, well, it hit me. Hey, let’s just do a continuation. I say of sorts because while this is, yes, the sequel, it also isn’t? That was about Bruce, this is about Tony. That’s pretty much the only distinction. Everything else is as it was: Peter, Hulk, Pepper, Avengers, life. So, this pretty much takes place from the beginning of _Iron Man 3_ , runs its course, and has some afterwards, too, because I didn’t feel like doing the middle of the film. That said, also, if you haven’t watched the film, I very highly recommend that a) you do and b) you don’t read this until you do.
> 
> ii. I don’t really have much else to say except I will be ignoring the end of the film because ARC REACTOR FEELS, and I will be following mostly the films, but there will likely be some comic slips in there because my memory can’t distinguish anymore what’s what.

_Take me down to the river bend,_

_Take me down to the fighting end._

Tony feels like it could have been anything in the world—they’ve dealt with Chitauri aliens, Magneto’s hissy fits, and _each other_ , damn it—anything, and he would have been okay.

 

He’s tinkering with the Mark 42, going through some commands at Jarvis’ request, and he’s got two boots on when his phone rings.  He plans to ignore it, but then Jarvis says, “Sir, Doctor Banner,” and Tony still has half a mind to ignore it in favor of giving a command for the gloves, but four rings go by, and he figures it must be important.

 

“Jarvis.”

 

The ringing stops, and Bruce’s voice floats through the lab, “You were going to ignore me.”

 

“I was not,” Tony says through a small grin, “Past four is ignoring.  Are you buying lunch?  I’m hungry.”

 

Bruce chuckles, and Tony’s grin grows.  “I can be,” Bruce says, “I’m near Thai, that work?”

 

Tony groans happily, “ _Yes_.  Are you done with Pepper yet?  Come home, I wanna show you something.”

 

“I’ll be home in a bit, I’ve got to sort a few more things out.  I have news, which is why I’m calling.”

 

“News?” Tony repeats, giving the command for one of the gloves.

 

It flies through the air and slides on just as Bruce says, “I’ve been invited to do a series of guest lectures at ESU.”

 

“Peter goes to ESU,” he says, giving the command for the other glove.

 

“Very good.  I’ll be gone for about a week.”

 

“You’ve already accepted?”

 

“Yeah, is that—is that okay?”  Bruce’s voice gets weird, so Tony wrinkles his nose and gives a final command.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says through the mask before he drops the call and tries not to think about why Bruce leaving bothers him.  He knows Bruce is the one that’s supposed to do the disappearing act, but Tony decides to take a page out of his book and flies to Tahiti at Jarvis’ suggestion for three days.

 

When he gets home, Bruce is gone, but there’s a note sitting on Tony’s pillow, and he glances at it briefly— _stop being a child and call me_ —before he takes a shower and goes back up to the lab.  He gets barely a half hour of work done before he’s too frustrated to focus anymore, and he leaves Rhodes a message before getting into the suit again and making for Malibu.

 

By the time he gets there, the night has faded into morning, and Rhodes calls him as he’s coming up over California.  “Okay, I don’t even know if your voicemail was in English,” he says by way of hello, and Tony just rolls his eyes.

 

“We’re getting breakfast.”

 

“Oh?  Are we?  You’re in New York.”

 

“False, actually.”

 

And that’s how it happens that he and Rhodes end up getting breakfast and catching up, how he meets the kids that ask him to sign their picture, how the little boy leans close to him and whispers, “How’d you get out of the wormhole?”

 

It’s the catalyst, and the crayon snaps in his shaking, clenching fingers.  He can _feel_ his throat constricting, closing in on itself until he can’t breathe, can’t even see straight, and he nearly falls into the suit, sagging to one knee.  “Check the heart,” he forces out, “Is it the heart?  The brain?”

 

Everyone starts talking at once—people are whispering behind their hands, Rhodes is muttering about public image, Jarvis is telling him it’s a panic attack, and it all sounds like a dull roar, a mantra over and over again, _stop being a child and call me, stop being a child, and call me, stop and call me._   Tony makes a lame excuse, forces himself into the air, and his heart thuds through every vein in his body as he waits and waits, listening to the phone ring and ring until, “I’m in the middle of a lecture, _what_?”

 

“I love you,” he rushes out before his throat chokes on the words.

 

He can hear Bruce breathing on the other line, and he listens to it, lets it settle through him and calm him until his heart is steady and easy again, though it aches like it hasn’t in so long.  “Tony,” he sighs finally, and Tony can imagine him scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to decide how to respond because he’s _Bruce_ , and it doesn’t matter if Tony trusts Hulk and Hulk likes Shellhead, there’s still so much there that he’s always fighting with himself about.

 

There’s movement, and then Bruce’s voice is distant, talking to his students before he excuses himself, and Tony can almost hear his footsteps as he walks, distancing himself from the world until it’s just them, _tonyandbruce_ , and he says, “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Bruce breathes again, and Tony thinks of him leaning back against a wall, tipping his head back, and closing his eyes.  He keeps that image of Bruce in his mind, keeps listening to the way he breathes, and he copies him until Bruce says, “There you go.  Better?”

 

“Come home.”

 

“I have three days left of lecture.  Where did you go?”

 

“Tahiti, I think.  It was Jarvis’ idea.  Then Malibu to see Rhodes.  Then—” he stops, thinking back to the way his body had tried to twist itself inside out, fear clawing through him until he couldn’t breathe, and the wormhole, falling, falling—

 

“Tony.”

  
Bruce’s voice rockets him back, and his breath comes out on a sharp exhale.  “I’m hanging up,” he says, but he doesn’t.

 

“Where are you now?” Bruce asks because he knows he’s still there.

 

“I don’t know, it’s on autopilot.”

 

“Go home, do an hour of yoga and meditation each, drink some tea, draw a bath, and go to sleep.  I’ll be back in three days.”

 

“Bruce—”

 

“You’re okay.  I love you.  I’m hanging up,” and Bruce does because he knows Tony needs him to.

 

He gets back to the Tower in one piece, and he does everything Bruce instructed.  He manages to get through the entire hour of meditation and then some, sitting there swaying a little and letting his body move to the beat of his slow breaths.  He makes mint tea when he’s done, his new favorite, and he takes it with him into the bathroom, where Jarvis has already drawn his bath.  When he eventually gets into bed, naked and yawning, he pulls Bruce’s pillow over to his side, closes his eyes, and mumbles, “Jarvis, something nice on the television.”

 

Jarvis turns on the Discovery Channel, fiddling until it plays a special on Antarctica.

 

——

 

He never thought space could look so ugly, a beautiful landscape destroyed by fire and metal and aliens until it was barely recognizable, and then he doesn’t have thoughts anymore.

 

Tony wakes gasping for air, fighting against the sheets twisted around him until he gives a broken cry and falls free of them, landing with a thud on the floor.  He staggers to his feet, takes a step, and sinks back to the floor, chest heaving as he struggles to breathe.

 

“Jarvis,” he manages to choke out, but he doesn’t hear Jarvis’ response because there’s a roaring in his ears that’s so far away but so familiar, and he knows what it is, but he keeps waking up before it can restart his batteries.

 

Somehow, he finds himself in the bathroom, knelt before the toilet, trying to get rid of the poison inside of him, trying to force away the feeling of falling, the wormhole—the word is like a trigger, and he sobs, sliding away from the porcelain until he’s lying on the floor, naked body pressed against the cool tile.  He feels like he’s overheating, at the center of a nuclear explosion, and there’s a British voice shouting something that he can’t comprehend before he doesn’t have thoughts anymore.

 

——

 

“Tony.  Tony.  _Tony_.”

 

“ _Jarvis_ , I’m sleeping.”

 

“It’s Pepper.”

 

Tony forces his eyes open, sees only white, and then looks over his shoulder, but that just reveals more of the bathroom until Pepper lays a hand on his head, and he flinches away from her touch, gaze snapping up to find her looming above him, knelt by his head.  “Pepper,” he says, rearranging himself until he’s got his limbs all accounted for, and he’s leaving the bathroom in search of clothes.  He hears Pepper sigh when he exits back into his room, but she doesn’t follow until he’s got a pair of sweats on and is rubbing a hand over his chest, frowning.

 

“Jarvis called me,” she says as she comes into the room, her arms folded across her chest, “He said you passed out on the floor, that you were having a—”

 

“He shouldn’t have, I’m fine,” he cuts her off, turning and forcing a weak smile, “Go home, Pepper.”

 

Jarvis speaks before either of them can continue, “Sir, incoming call from Doctor Banner.”

 

“I have to take this,” Tony says, reaching for an ear piece and nearly fleeing the room.  He starts walking and lets his feet go where they will as he answers the call, “How’s ESU?”

 

“I can’t sleep without you,” Bruce murmurs tiredly, “I could the first three nights, but then you called, and your voice.”

 

“My voice?” Tony says, stepping into the elevator.

 

“Were you sleeping?”

 

“I’m in the lab.”

 

“I need to see you.”

 

“Hang on.”  Tony steps out into the lab, goes over to his circle of monitors, and taps a quick command to get a floating video call up.  He looks over when it pops up to his left, blue-tinted around the edges of a dark image.  In the middle, hidden a little by shadow, is Bruce, curled up on his side, face half-mashed into his pillow.  “Hey,” Tony says fondly, settling in his chair.

 

“What are you working on?” Bruce asks.

 

“Dunno yet.  Probably the Mark 42.  Or the Hulk buster, considering whom I’m speaking with.”

 

“I think I should be offended that you’ve created a suit designed to withstand the Hulk.”

 

“Withstand _you_ ,” Tony corrects him, already getting up and making his way over to the stairs.  He’s got the Hulk buster spread out on the third floor, and he argues back and forth with Bruce over whether or not it’s an offensive idea until he asks Bruce about his lectures, and then he’s got his science boyfriend talking a mile a minute.  When he gets settled, he opens one of the monitors up there to the cameras stationed around the Tower, but he can’t find Pepper anywhere, so he assumes she’s already left, and he lets himself get lost in talking to Bruce.

_Wash the poison from off my skin,_

_Show me how to be whole again._

When Happy calls him about Aldrich Killian, he’s going on his third day in the lab working on the Hulk buster, but Bruce called earlier to remind him to eat, and so he’s out getting Thai food.  He chats with Happy on the drive back, hangs up when he gets back into the lab, and keeps working until Jarvis informs him of Bruce’s arrival in the Tower.  He goes down to the first floor to grab his headset so he can send Mark 42 to greet him before going back to the Hulk buster.

 

Mark 42 is waiting in the living room of their floor when Bruce enters with his bags, and Tony bites back a smile as Bruce opens the door, dumps his bags on the ground, and starts to turn back out again.  He stops, though, and he turns back slowly, looking over to the suit sitting on the sofa.  “Tony?” he asks.

 

“New design, I think I’ve got most of the kinks worked through.”

 

“Not Tony,” Bruce says, and Tony swears at him.  Bruce laughs and comes over, taking his glasses from his pocket and fitting them on so he can look more closely at the suit.  “Where are you?” he asks, straightening as the Mark 42 shifts and stands.

 

“If you’ll follow me, darling, I’m not far.”

 

“Is it coded to your movements already or are you synced to it?”

 

“Both, kind of?  I’m not currently walking, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“Huh,” Bruce says, and Tony smiles again as he leans closer to it, mouth open a little as he looks it over.  The suit leads him back to the elevator and down to the lab, and Bruce looks away from it and up through the glass panes.  “So,” he says as he erupts onto the third floor to where Tony is spread amongst parts of the Hulk buster, “You’re synced to it, but internally.”

 

“I’ve been working on something that connects me to the suits, and it’s finally _right_ , I think.  They know what I’m thinking, what I want.”

 

“The suit and I are one,” Bruce quotes him, and Tony shrugs.  He gets up when Bruce approaches, stepping over his work until he can reach him, fingers twining in his suit jacket and tugging him close.

 

“Handsome suit,” he says, and Bruce tilts his head up, meeting his gaze.

 

“I hope so.  It’s from your closet.”

 

“How’s Peter?”

 

“Wants to come play at Stark Tower with his favorite dads, as he’s taken to calling us,” Bruce says, stepping in closer.

 

“Dads?  What happened to uncles?”

 

Instead of answering, Bruce leans up, placing a light kiss on Tony’s mouth.  Tony tries to bite when he starts to pull back, but Bruce just gives him a little slap on the cheek and steps out of his space.  “I’ll make you a deal,” Bruce says, lifting Tony’s hands and placing a kiss on the backs of his knuckles, “Let me take a shower, and I’ll meet you downstairs for yoga and meditation, and _maybe_ I’ll consider letting you score tonight.”

 

“Maybe,” Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, but he’s already walking away from Bruce, who just watches him go with a small smile.  He doesn’t know when trusting Tony became a thing he was doing and not just a thing the Hulk was doing, and it makes him a little itchy, but he just shrugs it off and follows Tony out of the lab.

 

Tony’s waiting for him by the elevator, and, as he approaches, he thinks about that phone call, the only one they’d had while he was away, and it makes him want to frown, but he pushes it away and greets Tony with a quick kiss.  He’s afraid of what New York’s done to him, what it means that he was having a panic attack and he can tell he hasn’t slept in a few days.

 

They take the elevator down to their living quarters, and Bruce leaves Tony in the kitchen to get their tea ready while he continues on toward their bedroom, taking his bags with him from the door.  He unpacks his things in only a few minutes—he’s used to only bringing the bare necessities, and no amount of security in the Tower will break that habit—strips out of his clothes, and pads naked into the bathroom, where Jarvis has just turned on the shower for him.  He steps inside, under the welcome assault of water, and he lets it run over him for a few long moments, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.  He thinks about showing up at Peter’s apartment his third night there, pacing, the muscles in his back pulled tight and tense, threatening to break, and Peter hadn’t been afraid.  That alone had calmed him, that he could see so much of Tony in Peter, and he understood, finally, why he always felt so drawn to their surrogate son.

 

He can hear Tony before he can feel him, the quiet pad of his feet across the tile, the soft movement of the door, his breath ghosting out over the back of his neck, and then Tony’s hands are on his shoulders, thumbs digging in and soothing out the tension.  “What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, and Bruce leans his head back until he can kiss Tony’s jaw.

 

“You,” he murmurs.

 

“Bruce,” Tony whispers, but all Bruce can hear is the panic in his voice from that phone call, the desperation and fear, and it makes his chest ache.  He turns, lifting a hand to Tony’s jaw and pulling him in, kissing him quiet.  Tony is so careful, always, and he keeps a breath of space between them, but Bruce needs him, needs him more than he ever needed Betty, and it terrifies him.  When he was little, he’d always begged his mother to hold him and keep him safe, and he’d always thrived on physical contact, but then the gamma radiation had stolen that from him, but Tony has never feared him, and so he steps closer until there’s nothing but them.  He’s trembling a little, especially when Tony pulls back and looks at him, clear-eyed and asking, and Bruce tries to say his name, fails, and just makes this choked noise before pulling him back, squeezing his eyes shut and kissing him until he can’t feel anything but _Tony_.

 

Bruce lets Tony takes a sliver of control, pressing them back against the shower wall, one thigh slotting between Bruce’s, and he kisses away from his mouth and back to his ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down Bruce’s spine as he nips at the line of his jaw.  “You’re safe here,” Tony whispers, and Bruce’s hand slides up into his hair, threading there as he leans his head back, focusing on his breathing.

 

Tony kisses down his neck, curving around to the base of his throat before his teeth find his collarbone, nibbling along until he makes his way to a shoulder, biting and sucking.  Bruce groans, fingers tightening in Tony’s hair, but then Tony shifts away from him, and Bruce comes back, eyes snapping open and breath coming out on a, “No.”  Tony stops immediately, meeting Bruce’s gaze, and Bruce smiles softly, releasing his hair to find his jaw again, tipping Tony toward him for a slow kiss.  “Not in here,” he amends, and Tony nods.  He steps away, and Bruce watches him, in awe of how lucky he is to have found Tony—to have been found by Tony, really.

 

They shower around one another, but Bruce is itching to be close to Tony again, and so it’s a quick one before they’re toweling off, and he’s surprised when Tony says, “I’ll get the tea?”

 

He starts to say they can just skip, but he hasn’t meditated since he left the Tower, and he knows he needs to, knows his mind has been too unruly.  So, he nods, watching Tony pad out of the bathroom.  They end up in the basement ten minutes later, sipping flavored green tea as they slide through different yoga movements before an hour of meditation.  As the hour is coming to an end, though, Bruce lets his eyes shut and takes a slow, deep breath, listening to everything inside of him and outside, to Tony and the soft sounds of machinery and electronics moving throughout the house, and, when he opens his eyes, they’re green.

 

Tony is watching him intently, and he’s surprised again to find that the brown of his eyes is a thin ring around his blown pupils, and Bruce isn’t sure how he sits through the last ten minutes.  When the hour is up, however, he carefully unfolds from his full lotus, and Tony meets him halfway, and his earlier control is slipping away.  He pulls at Bruce, teeth scraping over his bottom lip before he’s kissing him hungrily, hands sliding up into his curls and tugging, and his skin feels like fire to Bruce.  They tumble backward, Bruce looming over Tony, and he breaks away from his mouth to kiss down to his bare chest, down over the arc reactor, which Tony makes a little, broken noise of surprise and pleasure at, and to his belly, biting once before he looks up, green eyes flashing lust.

 

“Bruce?” Tony asks, and there’s so many questions there that Bruce isn’t sure what to answer first.

 

“I’m here,” he says, and Tony groans, reaching down to fist a hand in Bruce’s curls and tug him back up.  They kiss long and slow, and Bruce knows what he’s doing, knows that he’s trying to slow them down, for Bruce’s sake, so he pulls back and presses his forehead against Tony’s, makes him settle until they’re breathing the same.  “When I couldn’t sleep those first three days, I would go over to Peter’s after my lectures,” he begins quietly, “The second night, he decided I just needed to be distracted.  He took me down to the gym he goes to, and we spent a few hours there.  The next time we were there, it was late, and there was no one else in the gym, so I asked him to try to antagonize the Hulk.  I—I’ve been working with him—the Hulk—for a few weeks now, trying to understand him, and I think—I think he’s been trying to do the same, and then—he never showed that night.”

 

“Bruce,” Tony says before he swallows, “What are you saying?”

 

“He’s—he’s right here,” Bruce says, tapping his temple, “He’s so close, and I can feel him, but he’s going to stay there.”  Before Tony can respond, Bruce leans up and away, reaching down to rid Tony of his sweats, and then he’s shedding his, and Tony hooks a foot around his thigh, pulling him back.  They slide together, and Tony bows off the mats beneath them, bringing them together as Bruce finds his mouth again, one hand curled around his jaw, thumb hooked up under his ear, holding him there, his other tightening around Tony’s hip and pushing him back down to the mats.  Tony moans at being held down, trying to shift under Bruce’s grip and pulling back to bite at his mouth when Bruce pushes him back down.

 

“Careful, I could get used to this,” Tony says breathlessly, and Bruce laughs softly at him, kissing his jaw before shifting away from him and reaching for his sweats.  “You were planning this?” he asks when Bruce returns with a small bottle of lube.  When Bruce just quirks an eyebrow at him, Tony groans and lets his head fall back against the mats.  “You are definitely my favorite man in the world.”

 

“Stop talking,” Bruce mutters as he kneels between Tony’s legs and hooks a hand under one of his knees, bringing it up.  Tony looks down the plane of his body at Bruce, who stills under his gaze, breath caught in his throat.  Tony’s next exhale is audible, and Bruce listens to it, fingers kneading in his calf muscles until he feels in control again.  He knows the green is fading in his eyes, Hulk slowly hiding farther away in his mind, letting him have this moment, but he also knows that it’s a give and take, that they’re not entirely there yet, not equally in control, and he lets the sound of Tony’s steady breathing settle over him as he slicks a finger and traces back, and then Tony’s breath hitches on the first push.  He stretches him slowly and carefully until he’s taking a hip in hand and guiding his cock inside him, and Tony’s swearing, tugging at Bruce until he leans back down, mouths fitting together in a rhythm that’s so familiar he feels _home_.

 

Tony pulls him apart, hands frantic over him, scratching and grabbing and wanting, body matching each slow thrust until Bruce is pressing him down into the mats, kissing him hard before he hooks Tony’s knees over his elbows and fucks him until Tony is shouting and twisting under him.  He lets his control break and shatter, lets himself open up until he’s not sure what color his eyes are.

 

“Bruce,” Tony groans, clinging to him, and he leans down to nudge at Tony’s jaw until he tips his head back so he can kiss down the column of his throat and bite the hollow at the base.  Tony swears and reaches a hand between them, fingers fisting over his cock and matching Bruce’s quickening thrusts, the other hand coming up to tighten in Bruce’s curls, blunt nails scraping over his scalp, holding him close.  Bruce presses them closer together, leans his temple on Tony’s shoulder, panting against his skin.  He groans as he feels the heat slide down his spine and pool in his belly, and Tony says his name, but it sounds far away.

 

Tony tugs at him, and he trips over the edge, gasping as he slams in and stills, encased in tight heat, and Tony shouts beneath him, clenching impossibly tighter as he finishes between them, body lifting up toward Bruce’s even as he says his name, over and over, trying to bring him down, and then he feels it.  His skin feels stretched too tight, coiled, waiting to snap, and he disentangles from Tony as he feels the bones in his wrists and fingers crack and splinter.  He falls backward, drawing his knees up and tucking his head between, trying to dull the roaring in his ears, trying to find the Hulk and beg, _not now, not now, please not now_.  He needs to take care of Tony, and he can’t do that if he’s broken.

 

Tony comes up in front of him, legs parting around him, knees brushing against his, and he leans his head against Bruce’s, fingers digging into the backs of his shoulders as he wraps Bruce away in something physical, something real and breakable, and it brings Bruce down in a rush.

 

They stay like that for a few minutes, Tony being an octopus and Bruce trying not to be a monster.  When he finally feels fully in control again, he shifts, waiting for Tony to lift his head before he does.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers when he meets his gaze, and Tony just shakes his head and leans forward, kissing him quiet.

 

“Sleep,” is all he says when he parts, and he helps Bruce to his feet, handing him his sweats before he gets into his own.  Bruce takes Tony’s hand when they get into the elevator and pulls him against him, wrapping his arms around him and trying to tell Tony he’s safe—from Hulk, the Chitauri, from himself.

 

——

 

He always thought aliens would come after his time, far enough into the future that he would be cold in the ground with no one to carry on his legacy, and he knows that’s a childish thought, that of course there would be aliens because there’s superheroes, and there really isn’t a way to avoid it, and then he doesn’t have thoughts anymore.

 

He’s falling through empty space, through darkness, and he can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t move, and all he wants to do is scream.  He can hear a dull roar in the distance, so familiar but so far away, and he always wakes up before it can restart his batteries.

 

This time, when Tony wakes, it’s with a shout, and he tries to flee the suffocating blankets, but the Mark 42 is looming over him, and he feels his heart clench in his chest.  A hand lands on his shoulder, and he twists away from it, rising up on his knees and giving a kill command before he turns.  Bruce is pushing up away from the bed, and Tony gives a final command before he breaks the suit into pieces.  “Tony,” Bruce says, and it shatters the final shred of his control.  He staggers off the bed, sinking to his knees, gasping for air, one hand coming up over the arc reactor, nails scraping over his naked skin.

 

“Shit,” Bruce mutters, climbing over to his side and sliding down onto the floor next to him.  He starts to pull Tony toward him, but Tony makes this choked noise and flinches away, and Bruce sits back on his heels, counting to four over and over again, his voice a slow rhythm in the room until Tony is breathing with him.

 

Before Bruce can say anything, Tony looks up at him and mumbles, “I need to go home.  I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore.  Bruce.”

 

“Tony, we can get through this, together, we can—”

 

“I need to go _home_ ,” he says, pushing up off the ground and getting to his feet uncertainly, “I—I can’t— _fuck_.”  He sags into the nightstand, closes his eyes as he holds his breath, and then he’s reaching into one of the drawers for an ear piece and walking away, and Bruce looks down at the pieces of the Mark 42 before following him.

_Fly me up on a silver wing,_

_Past the black where the sirens sing._

They’ve been in Malibu for a month before it all starts to fall apart.  Bruce manages to get Tony into the idea of sleeping again after a few hours of research on home remedies, and the first night, Tony doesn’t have any nightmares.  It’s the second week, though, before he can get him on a normal sleep cycle again, and, even then, he skips some nights to tinker in the lab, but Bruce always goes with him, even if it’s only to keep him company or take offense to the Hulk buster.

 

Peter comes to stay the fourth week because he’s on spring break, and he’s been there for barely half the day before Tony gets the call about Happy in the hospital.  He spends two days there before Bruce calls him to come home, and the news is on while he and Peter make a big lunch.  Tony’s threat to the Mandarin has already aired before he gets home, and Bruce leaves Peter in the kitchen when he hears his car pull up.  Tony’s walking away from his car when Bruce opens the front door.  “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he shouts.

 

“What do I think I’m _doing_?” Tony retorts, striding toward him, “That _terrorist_ put Happy in the hospital.  I am _not_ going to let that go.”

 

Tony tries to step around him, but Bruce puts a hand on his chest, fingers spread, and holds him there.  He leans in close, his voice a sharp whisper as he says, “You gave them our _home address_ , Tony.  Do you even see how reckless that was, or are you just too busy thinking about _yourself_ and not the other people in your life who care about you?  You are in _no_ shape to go toe to toe with this guy, and even if you were, I was trying to keep a low profile, or have you forgotten that, too?  I can’t do this, Tony.  I can’t lose control again.”

 

“This isn’t about you,” Tony snaps at him, stepping away from his hand and slipping past him.

 

Bruce follows him back into the house, voice rising as he says, “No, this is about _us_!  You and I, Tony, we’re—you let me in, and I let you in, and you can’t forget about that.  I need stability and a calm environment, and you just gave a terrorist our home address.  And _Peter_ , Tony,” he adds, his voice dropping again as Tony turns, “You just put his life in danger, too.”

 

“Peter can take care of himself,” Tony says, coming back over to Bruce and getting in his face, “He’s held his own before, he can do it again.  And so can you, so stop being fucking weak.”

 

“I am _not_ weak!” Bruce shouts, and then neither of them are speaking, and Bruce is holding his breath, and he can feel Hulk stirring in his veins.

 

It is a long minute before Bruce steps away from Tony and says, very quietly, “I’m going to go pack a bag, and Peter and I are going to New Mexico to stay with Betty until this all blows over.  You can decide if you’re coming or not, but I will leave without you.”

 

“Always running away,” Tony says when Bruce has walked a few feet from him, and he stops, not turning, waiting for Tony to continue, “I guess I should have expected that.”

 

There’s so much Bruce wants to say to him, so many different ways he wants to hurt him like Tony is hurting him, but he swallows it all done because he knows why Tony is saying this, knows that he’s shattering right now, and instead of being nasty, he says, “You believed in me once, and the Hulk saved your life because of that.  I trusted you because of that.  Don’t ruin that now.”  He walks away before either of them can say anymore, and he stops by the kitchen to gather Peter before he goes upstairs to pack.

 

Tony doesn’t move until they ascend the stairs, and then he storms downstairs into the lab and paces around until he hears Peter shouting for Bruce, fear tainting his voice.  He comes upstairs in time for the first assault, and then it’s chaos.  Peter gets thrown backward, and he flicks up a wrist, but a falling chunk of rock smacks him across the head, and he crumbles, hitting the ground, unmoving.  Tony gets thrown in the opposite direction even as he’s trying to reach for Peter, and he gives a command for the suit at the same time that the ceiling cracks above him.  From below, he can hear the Mark 42 whirring to life, but it’s not going to reach him in time, and he starts to roll as the ceiling gives way and a shadow falls over him.  He stills, staring up at the massive green beast looming over him, one huge fist thrust into the ground next to Tony’s head, bits of the ceiling sliding away from his back.  “Tony,” Hulk says, and Tony wants to laugh at the fact that he sounds so much like Bruce.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as Hulk stands, and then the next assault comes.  “Get Peter!” he shouts as he gives another command, and one glove comes flying up from the lab.  He can hear the rest following even as the house falls apart around them.

 

He expects Bruce to command the Hulk to ignore him, to make sure Tony is safe, and so he’s shocked when Hulk says, “Bruce says tell Tony come home,” and turns away, scooping up Peter and making for the front door.

 

And when he’s drowning, and chunks of his house are sliding toward him, when he knows he’s going to die and he’s never going to hear Bruce’s laugh again, the one he reserves for Tony because he never laughs for anyone else, has never trusted anyone else enough to be able to, has never believed someone could love him instead of fear him, and all he can hear is those words, _come home, come home, come home_ , and blackness creeps in at the edges of his vision until Jarvis says, “Take a deep breath, sir.”  As the Mark 42 pulls him out from underneath the rubble and carries him through the water, skyrocketing away from the destruction, he understands—Malibu isn’t his home, New York isn’t his home, he’s never had one, even when he was a child trying to make his father proud, when he was finally part of something _good_ and trying to save the world, when he was with Pepper, when he and Bruce and Peter were together in the lab, he’s never had a home until he met Bruce.

 

——

 

Bruce has been sitting on the edge of the destruction since it stopped falling, shifted from Hulk to Bruce while he was sitting there, and only let someone close when Peter came bearing clothes.  He’s been sitting there, one of the helmets in his lap, staring at the calm waters.  He wants to scream—how can they be calm when he can still feel Hulk surging just beneath his skin, and he only has a thin wall of control left, feels like he’s going to shift and break at any second.

 

“Hey dad,” Peter’s voice floats over to him just before he sits, leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder and stretching his legs out in front of him.  He’d refused to go to the hospital despite the angry bruises mapped across his torso, but he’d let them wrap him up, thick white gauze stretched around his thin frame.  When Bruce looks at him in his peripheral, though, he can see the blue and red peeking out from underneath his sweatshirt.

 

“What’s that for?” Bruce mumbles, and Peter shrugs.

 

“The bags were already outside, and I feel safer inside it.  Bruce,” he sighs, “What are we gonna do?”

 

Bruce starts to respond, but then something beeps inside the helmet, and he blinks, frowns, and straightens.  Peter lifts his head, looking over as Bruce turns it over.  There’s a flashing red light inside, and he thinks about it for only half a second before he lifts the helmet and lets it close around his head.  He’s instantly awash in a blue glow, and then Tony’s voice is echoing around him, apologizing for himself and for being reckless and for so many things, Bruce can’t help the soft laugh that slips from him.  He babbles on about Tennessee and stealing a poncho from a wooden Indian and Jarvis leaving him and then he falls silent, his breath unsteady through the phone until he says, “I love you so much, Bruce.  Go somewhere safe, go underground, and wait for me.  I’m coming back to you, I promise, I just have to take care of this, and then I’ll come home.  Get Peter safe, and tell him I love him like a son and just—just be careful, Bruce.”  And then his voice is gone entirely, and Bruce stops sitting at the edge of destruction.

 

——

 

Tony thinks there’s got to be some kind of hidden meaning behind this kid, something the universe is trying to tell him that he’s been ignoring, that he’s made a little family for himself, him and Bruce and their bratty little college kid, and he thinks that’s why he doesn’t shake the kid loose, but instead lets him follow him around.  The panic attacks only get worse, and the kid—Harley, he thinks his name is—keeps pushing every button possible—New York, aliens, do you have PTSD, _wormhole_ —until Tony feels like he’s been turned inside out, and all he can think about is Bruce.

 

Things start happening too fast for him to keep up with, and the next time he’s really paying attention is when there are zip ties biting into his wrists and Killian is talking trash until suddenly he’s not, and all Tony can see is Peter, the uniform torn around bleeding wounds, chains holding him in place, and Killian’s threatening to kill the closest thing he has to family.  Then it really starts to blur, and he only vaguely remembers being a smartass to his guards, the suit coming in pieces, finding Rhodes, calling the garrison, and the Hulk buster landing next to him.  He blinks when it does, which turns into a startled laugh when it opens and Bruce steps out.

 

“Still offended?” he says, but then Bruce is stepping into his space and kissing him quiet.  When they part, Tony gives him a quick look, curls to toes, taking in how he’s disheveled and a little beaten up, but he’s fine otherwise, so he kisses him again to make sure he’s really there.

 

“Where’s Peter?” Bruce asks after, and Tony can already see the shift in the muscles of his bare chest, knows that he’s going to fight as hard and as long as he has to.

 

“We’ll find him,” Tony promises, and then there’s nothing but fire and metal and a distant, dull roar that’s so familiar, and Tony is awake to hear it.

_Warm me up in a nova’s glow,_

_And drop me down to the dream below._

Tony looks up as Bruce approaches, two steaming mugs in hand.  He slides into the booth opposite Tony, hooks a foot around his ankle, and hands him one of the mugs.  “Mint?” Tony asks, and Bruce nods.  They sip their tea in silence for a while until Tony sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, leaning forward on his elbows.  “What now?”

 

“I’m happy wherever you are, but I think we need to go back and face our demons.”

 

“New York,” Tony clarifies, and it’s the first time he’s said it without his heart trying to give out, “Back to the Tower?”

 

“Peter has just over a month left of this semester, and then he’s agreed to come stay with us for the summer.  I think, by the time he arrives, we’ll be okay.”

 

A small smirk lifts one corner of Tony’s mouth up before he says, “Yeah, you have that much confidence in your healing skills?”

 

“I do, in fact,” Bruce says, kicking his shin lightly, and then he’s leaning forward, too, and reaching for Tony’s hands, taking them into his own and kissing the backs of his knuckles.  “You’re going to be okay,” he promises, and Tony nods.

 

“I know.  As long as I have you, I know.”

 

After they eventually get lunch in the café, and Bruce orders tea to go, to which Tony takes an opportunity to tease him about, they go collect Peter at the hospital, finally discharged and whining about being bored.  He chatters incessantly on the drive to the airport, where a Stark Industries jet is waiting, and then he’s out cold as soon as he gets settled.

 

“So, the garrison?” Bruce asks after liftoff, and Tony smiles across from him.

 

“They’re on their way back to the Tower.”

 

“We should test out the Hulk buster at some point.”  Tony laughs at this, and Bruce smiles, relaxing in his seat.

 

“I’m not sure whether I should be offended or not.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I feel like that’s an invitation to get my ass kicked.”

 

“Probably is—depends, I guess.”

 

“He was pretty pissed off with Killian.”

 

“ _I_ was pissed off,” Bruce corrects him, and Tony’s smile is warm and wide.

 

“Because he is you, and you are him,” he says, and Bruce rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

 

“I’m taking a nap,” is all Bruce says in return, and Tony just laughs at him.

 

——

 

Dusk is only just creeping on them when the jet settles in Pennsylvania, and they watch it crest into night as they fly the rest of the way to New York.  When they get back to the Tower, Tony herds Bruce into the elevator, hits the basement level button, and snuggles into the circle of Bruce’s arms, leaning his head on his shoulder and listening to the steady thump of Bruce’s heart.

 

“Leave the bags,” he mumbles as the doors ding and he straightens, headset in hand.  He hushes Bruce with a kiss when he tries to take the headset away, and then he’s leaving him rolling his eyes in the elevator.  They go through yoga while Tony has the Mark 42 unpack what little they managed to salvage, Bruce decides they’re skipping meditation in favor of sleep, and Tony doesn’t have any nightmares.

 

In the morning, when he wakes, Bruce is still asleep, and he still looks exhausted, so Tony disentangles from him, goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and pee, and then grabs a shirt on his way out of the bedroom.  His sweats sag a little on his hips, and he knows Bruce is going to comment on him losing weight because of stress, so he says, “Jarvis, Indian breakfast.”

 

Jarvis pulls up a curry-spiced omelet, and so Tony hunts down Bruce’s favorite vegetables to throw inside, makes hash browns with peppers, and then starts tossing various fruits into a bowl to make a salad.  Bruce is still asleep when Tony comes back in balancing a tray, so he sets the tray on his desk and goes back to get orange juice.

 

“Something smells like curry,” Bruce mumbles when Tony returns with the drinks.  He turns his head as the bed dips and opens his eyes, yawning.  “Did you make breakfast in bed?” he asks, smiling when Tony holds up the tray.

 

“Sit up,” he demands, poking Bruce with his foot.

 

Bruce smiles and does as he’s told, piling his pillows behind him and getting settled before Tony hands him a plate.  “What is it?” he asks, and Tony nudges him with a shoulder.

 

“Just try it,” he says, fighting a grin.  He settles into his pillows and crosses his legs under him, getting comfortable while Bruce takes his first bite.  When he makes an appreciative noise, Tony just hums pleasantly and asks, “Have any dreams about icebergs?”

 

“Lions, actually.  Jarvis, anything on the African safari.”

 

“Lions?”

 

“Mm, I dunno, these things just happen.  How’d you sleep last night?”

 

“Fine,” Tony shrugs, “You?”

 

“Better than I have in a while.  Any nightmares?”

 

“I said fine,” Tony says, “Can we talk about something else?”

 

“We need to talk about this, Tony.  We can’t just avoid the fact that you may have—”

 

“I _do not_ have PTSD,” Tony snaps, stabbing his omelet angrily.  Bruce has stilled beside him, but he doesn’t meet his gaze as he continues, “It was a few bad dreams, _okay_?  Leave it alone.”

 

“You called the Mark 42 in your sleep, so I’m going to assume it was a little more than a _bad dream_.  And the panic attacks, Tony?  There’s something deeper there, and, to heal, you have to talk about what happened here,” Bruce says, keeping his voice low and soft.

 

He reaches out a hand to Tony’s arm, to ground him and remind him he’s not alone, but Tony flinches away like he’s been electrocuted, knocking his orange juice over in the process.  “Fucking hell,” he mutters, getting up off the bed even as Jarvis sets to cleaning it.  “I was trying to be nice,” he snaps at Bruce, finally looking at him, “Why did you have to ruin it?”

 

“Tony,” Bruce sighs, setting his things down and getting off the bed to come around to him.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Tony growls before stalking from the room, and Bruce heaves a sigh before following him.

 

“Stop running away!” he calls after him.

 

“You’ve been doing it your whole life!”

 

“Fuck’s sake, Tony, stop making this about me.  You’re hurting, and I just want to help.”

 

“I don’t _want_ your help,” he spits, finally stopping and turning.  They’re at opposite ends of the living room, and Tony uses the distance so that he can continue yelling, “You are just as bad as Rogers, trying to pry me open, but at least he does it in an indirect way, with his fucking _big man in a suit of armor_!  But no, instead you have to come right at me, talking about New York and aliens and the fucking wormhole!  Why does everyone keep asking me about the fucking wormhole?”  He means to go on, but he chokes on his words, struggling for air.

 

“Tony—”

 

“You think—you think you can just—whisk me away and fix me,” he forces out even as his hands start to shake and his chest aches, “You think it’s as easy—as Malibu—that it’ll all be alright—if we’re just—somewhere else.”

 

“ _You_ suggested Malibu!” Bruce shouts, coming into the living room and starting for Tony, “You were the one that said you couldn’t be here anymore, that you needed to go home!”

 

“Stop,” Tony says, holding up a hand and backing away, “Stop—please— _Bruce_.”

 

But Bruce keeps moving until he’s in Tony’s space, and he can feel his harsh, unsteady breathing.  “I packed my shit and went with you because I love you and I want to help you, but you can’t seem to get it through your head that having a post-traumatic stress disorder is perfectly normal after _dying_.  Because you did die, Tony—you brought a nuclear bomb into space, and then you died and fell through the wormhole.”

 

Tony breaks, grabbing onto one of Bruce’s arms as his knees buckle beneath him, and Bruce curls his other hand around Tony’s elbow, holding him up.  “Everyone keeps asking you how you got out of the wormhole,” Bruce keeps on going, “and you’re too afraid to tell them you don’t know because you were dead.”

 

“Bruce,” he gasps, fingernails digging into his arms.

 

“You keep having nightmares about aliens in New York, and not just the wormhole, but being in that battle, fighting for your life and for the lives of thousands, trying to prove that you were worth being called an _Avenger_ , that you were better than some alcoholic billionaire who couldn’t remember the names of women he’d slept with the night before.  You think that no one else is still fighting against those aliens, that no one else has ever had these issues before, that no one else can relate to you, and if I was really angry with you, I’d tell you to fuck off because everytime I disappeared from you, everytime I ran away, all I could hear was gunfire.  After I got away, left Betty and everything I had ever wanted, I thought I would never again be pinned down, being shot at, under a maelstrom of bullets.”

 

Tony lets go of him and crumbles the rest of the way, one shaking hand coming up to claw at his chest and his throat, and Bruce stares at him for a moment before heaving him to his feet and lugging him back through the living room and down the hall to their bedroom.  Tony stumbles forward when they enter the bathroom, breaking away from him to crash in front of the toilet and empty his stomach.  Bruce kneels behind him, rubbing circles in his back, quiet until Tony rests his head on the porcelain rim, and then he says, “Jarvis, draw a bath, please.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“I dreamed about drowning last night,” Tony whispers, and Bruce kisses one of his shoulders as he wraps strong arms around him.

 

“I’m going to take care of you.  You just have to have a little faith.”

 

“And trust and pixie dust?” Tony mumbles, so Bruce tugs on his hair and then helps him to his feet, flushing the toilet before he leads him over to the bath, strips him out of his clothes, and climbs in first so Tony can settle against him, head tucked up under Bruce’s chin and wrapped in him.

_Cos I’m only a crack in this castle of glass,_

_Hardly anything there for you to see._

Bruce has been saying Tony’s name in varying ways for the past hour before Tony agrees to go out for lunch while Bruce continues working on a formula.  He goes down into the garage, grabs a pair of sunglasses and shoes—he and Bruce generally go barefoot in the lab—and then slides behind the wheel of a maroon car.

 

He’s about to pull out onto the street from the sloping driveway that curves out from the garage when he sees a familiar figure, and he frowns before coming out and driving a few feet before he pulls over and says, “I thought you had a week left.”

 

The skateboard comes to a halt, and Peter flips it up into his hands as he turns.  “Said that cos I thought I’d be spending it with a friend, and I was trying to decide what lie fit best before I came knocking.”

 

“Get in.”  To his surprise, Peter obeys, dumping his skateboard in the back before he slides into the passenger seat.

 

“The rest of my shit’s already in the Tower,” he admits when Tony doesn’t pull away, “Just inside the lobby.  It’s pretty quiet in there.”

 

“Yeah, everyone kind of went their separate ways after the Chitauri were defeated,” he says as he pulls back onto the street.

 

“What about after Magneto?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, it could be like SHIELD headquarters.  You know, a place for the Avengers and other superheroes to have a place to live, as well as some of the more crazy agents.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“I’m already texting Bruce with the idea, there’s no stopping it from happening now,” Peter says as he digs out his phone and slides through the lock, “Just you wait, you’ll have people moving in by next week, and then it won’t be so lonely in there.”

 

“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” Tony mutters, though he’s fighting a grin.

 

“I’m just saying, it’d be good for you, and then I’d have a place to stay after college.  Hey, do I get my own floor?”

 

“It’s below Bruce’s,” Tony says, laughing when Peter lets out a whoop, “You can customize it however you want, I just need to get your prints for Jarvis.”

 

“Oh, way cool, will he actually listen to me?”

 

“If you behave.”  Peter rolls his eyes, slumping down in his seat and fiddling with his phone.  Tony looks over at him before saying, “So, this friend.”

 

“It’s whatever, I don’t wanna talk about it.  I’m going to change the subject, preemptive strike—can I ask you a weird question?”

 

“I’m all ears.”

 

“I didn’t ask Bruce cos he’s pretty chilled out anyway, but you’re weird sometimes, and it’s totally cool if not, but—you know—Bruce lets me call him dad, and I know it’s totally lame, but I don’t really remember much about my father, and my uncle’s gone, and I just—”

 

“Peter.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Just don’t call me sir.  My father wouldn’t answer me unless I called him sir.”

 

“Jarvis calls you sir,” Peter points out, straightening as Tony parks, “Some people would say that’s a direct correlation to your childhood.”

 

“Bruce would say a lot while he’s psychoanalyzing my relationship with Jarvis.  Did you take a psych course or something this semester?”

 

“Two, actually.  I don’t know why, I just think it’s really interesting.  The hell are we getting?”

 

“Japanese.”

 

“Oh man, I’m ordering sushi, then, it’s boss.”

 

“Yeah, you definitely belong to us.”

 

“Science boyfriends,” Peter snorts before getting out of the car, and Tony just laughs at him.

 

When they get back, Peter’s things have disappeared from the lobby, and Tony bypasses his floor despite Peter’s whining, going up to the R&D levels where Bruce is sitting on the floor, in a full lotus, a series of blue-tinted sketches floating around him.  “Japanese,” Tony says by way of hello, and Bruce makes an appreciative noise before unfolding.  “How’s the work going?”

 

“Frustrating.  Did you get sushi?  Hello, Peter.”  He crosses over to them, enveloping Peter in a tight hug before taking one of the takeaway bags from Tony.  They manage to find a clear space to eat on, and Bruce brings up the idea of inviting the team and SHIELD to live at the Tower almost immediately, “I think it’s a wonderful idea.  It would certainly help bring us closer, and we’d be able to train together as a team properly so we’d be better in the field.  It’d be a nice way to meet other extraordinary people, as well.  I mean, up until I met Peter, I thought Spiderman was a myth, and then you confirmed the X-Men, and there’s always those rumors about the Fantastic Four.”

 

“Reed Richards is an incredibly brilliant man,” Tony says, so Bruce throws a piece of rice at him.

 

“Honestly, you’ve met him?”

 

“I have indeed.”

 

“What, do you just go on picnics with all the genius men of the world, you and Charles Xavier and Reed Richards?”

 

“Clearly not, or I would have invited you,” Tony says with a small smile.

 

Peter makes an obnoxious noise, so they both throw rice at him.

 

——

 

It was as though the invitation opened up something else entirely, and Tony’s still not really sure how it happened.  Bruce sent out an email to Fury, and then Tony was being called nearly once an hour to set things up from a variety of SHIELD agents, though mostly Fury, and then, by the second week, he’s getting calls from the team.

 

They’re in the lab, Tony shouting at Dum-E while Bruce plays assistant, and Peter off on a different floor commandeering a set of monitors to work with his formulas.  Tony gives up when Bruce starts laughing, and then the phone’s ringing, and he gives a dramatic sigh as Jarvis says, “Sir, Captain Rogers calling.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—answer.”  He waits until the ringing stops and a floating voice call pops up in front of him where he’s sitting on the floor before he continues, “Cap.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” he says by way of greeting, and Bruce snorts, leaving Tony and making for the fruit bowl he snuck into the lab, “The team received, uh—emails?” he tries out the word, and Bruce throws a grape at Tony when he starts to laugh, so he pops it in his mouth and stays quiet, “Director Fury has informed us that the Tower is being opened as living quarters for the team, which I must admit I’m surprised by, but I think it’s a wonderful idea, and—”

 

“Stop being an asshole,” Bruce mutters to Tony as he comes over, pushing him out of the way so he’s in front of the call, “Steve, you are more than welcome to live at the Tower, along with the rest of the team.  If you could let them know, and if they decide they’d like to have a floor here, they can start moving in whenever.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor Banner.”

 

“It’s Bruce, Steve.  Stop it,” he adds when Tony zaps him in the foot with his pointy thing, though he’s fighting a grin.  Tony just leans down, kissing the top of his foot, and Bruce looks back up at Steve, saying quickly, “We’ll see you soon, then, I hope,” before he hangs up and smacks Tony on the back of the head.  Tony laughs and pulls Bruce toward him, and Bruce goes willingly, knees sliding in on either side of Tony’s thighs and settling in his lap.  “You’re such a menace,” he murmurs before leaning down to kiss him, hands coming up to curl around his jaw.

 

He lets himself get lost in Tony, in the way his careful hands slide down over his shoulders and around behind him, pulling him closer, molding them together until he’s breaking away to gasp for air, and Tony’s kissing down the column of his throat, practically purring.  His fingers come around to start undoing the buttons on Bruce’s shirt, and Bruce groans, nudging at him until he tips his head back again, and he presses their mouths together.

 

“Okay, seriously,” Peter’s voice crackles over the intercom, and Bruce jumps back, tilting his gaze up through the glass floors even as Tony undoes the last button on his shirt, pulling it out from where it’s haphazardly tucked into his pants, “I can see you two, and I’d really rather not.”

 

“Tony,” Bruce says, tugging on his hair, but Tony just starts kissing down his chest, and Bruce lets out a little sigh, fingers spreading to curl around the base of his skull, holding him there until Peter makes a ridiculous noise.

 

“You sound like a pterodactyl,” Tony mutters before he pats Bruce’s thighs and waits for him to get up.

 

“Old hags,” Peter grumbles back at them, and Bruce laughs loudly, taking Tony’s hand and pulling him toward the glass door before he can retort.

 

The second the elevator doors are shut, Bruce curls two fingers in the belt loops of Tony’s jeans and tugs him close, biting at his mouth before he kisses him, and Tony just groans, pushing them back against the elevator wall.  The doors open and close on their floor almost two times before Bruce manages to get Tony backed out into the hallway and through the front door.  Somehow, they make it down the stairs into the living room, and then Tony’s giving Bruce a little shove so that he topples over onto one of the sofas, flushed and looking up at Tony with a small grin, his breath even.

 

Tony groans and reaches for the back of his black tank, pulling it up and off before tossing it to the side and quickly undoing his jeans, flapping a hand at Bruce to do the same.  When they’re both naked and Tony’s still standing, Bruce leans forward and grabs at his hips, pulling Tony toward him until he folds up in his lap, legs spread around him and cock rubbing up against his own.  “Someday,” Tony whispers as he leans forward, hot breath ghosting over Bruce’s ear, “Someday, Hulk and I are going to have a very serious conversation about my need to be _fucked_ , hard and fast and rough, by you.”  When he pulls back, Bruce is looking at him in a way Tony has never seen, and his grin is wide and a little feral before he brings them together, kissing Bruce relentlessly.  He fists his left hand in his black curls, holding him there as his right hand drifts down between them, taking their cocks in hand and setting a slow, agonizing rhythm.

 

“Tony,” Bruce groans when he finally pulls away and leans back from Bruce, bending over to reach for the small table at the end of the sofa.  When he returns with a bottle of lube, Bruce gives him an incredulous look, and Tony can’t help but laugh.  “Do you just have them hidden everywhere?” Bruce asks, smirking.

 

Tony shrugs and says, “Kind of, yeah.  All over our floor, the lab, the gym, the garage—”

 

“The garage?”

 

“I like cars.”

 

Bruce just moans, bringing Tony back to him so he can kiss him long and hard.  When they finally break again, Bruce plucks the lube out of his hands and draws Tony closer to him with a hand on the small of his back.  He coats the fingers of his left hand, and Tony rises up on his knees, hands steadying him on Bruce’s shoulders.

 

Bruce is as desperate to be inside Tony as Tony is to have him, and he stretches him quickly, though carefully, before he’s giving Tony a little push so that he climbs off his lap and gives him a curious look.  “Be quiet,” he says as Tony opens his mouth, and Tony obeys with a small smile.  When Bruce settles between his legs again, he hooks Tony’s right leg along the back of the sofa and his left over his shoulder, and Tony lets out this soft whine of pleasure before Bruce guides his cock inside his ass, groaning as he settles, stilled inside Tony and pressed close to him.  He kisses Tony slowly, brings him down from the edge of recklessness, and, when he pulls back, Tony’s smile is fond instead of feral.  “I love you,” he whispers.

 

“I love you more,” Tony says in return, and Bruce just laughs softly at him before kissing him again and rocking out of him.

 

They have slow, easy sex on the sofa, a lazy climb to the top, breathing in each other and wound together until Bruce’s whole world is just _Tony_ , where he’s always belonged.

_Bring me home in a blinding dream,_

_Through the secrets that I have seen._

A week after Steve’s call, the team starts to show up, one after another.  Clint and Natasha are the first to arrive, getting out of their shared car, provided by SHIELD, and looking up at the tall building.  Peter is there to greet him, just coming back from his morning run, and they chat on the way in until Natasha’s looking in surprise at the butler waiting for them inside.  “A butler?  Really?” she says as Clint laughs.

 

“Bruce’s idea,” Peter admits, shrugging, “He figured it would be good to have a real person receiving, especially because Tony’s picky about Jarvis.  Clint, Natasha, this is Thomas.  He’ll take your things up.”

 

They say hello to Thomas, who bows his head to them and slips past them outside to the SHIELD car to get their things.  “So, are you living here?” Clint asks as Peter leads them toward the elevator.

 

“Yeah, for the summer and then probably after school.  Jarvis, patch me over to the lab, please.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis says, and Clint nods appreciatively.

 

“What, webhead?” Tony’s voice comes through the intercom a few seconds later.

 

“Clint and Natasha are here.  Do you want—”

 

“Jarvis, send Peter the sketch of the living quarters.  Are you busy?” he directs to Peter.

 

“After this, no, why?”

 

“Bruce is being mean to me,” Tony says, and then he’s gone.

 

Peter rolls his eyes before looking over to the wall where Jarvis has pulled up the sketch.  “Okay, so he’s got you two sharing a floor.  Is he just being an ass, or is that okay?” he asks, turning.

 

“It’s fine,” Clint says before Natasha can argue, and Natasha just sighs and smiles at him.

 

“Awesome.  Well, you two are the first to arrive, and you’re a few floors down from me.  Tony and Bruce are at the top, just below the R&D levels, and I think he’s blocked off the floor below me for Thor, just in case he comes back from Asgard, and then Steve’s the floor below that, above you two.”

 

“Has the Tower been opened up to anyone else?”

 

“As far as I know, all of SHIELD has been invited, and I think Tony sent an email out to the Fantastic Four, but he was grumbling something about the Baxter Building, and then I think he may have sent something out to the X-Men, too, but they have Xavier’s school, so I dunno.”

 

“Sounds like Stark’s been busy,” Natasha says, nodding.

 

“Yeah, he’s a bit crazy,” Peter says with a small chuckle before leading them out of the elevator doors and down the small hallway to their front door.  “Jarvis will run you through a prints scan, and then some other security measures before he’ll let you in.  Are you alright alone?”

 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Clint waves him off, and Peter smiles before turning away and heading back toward the elevator.  He takes it up to the lab where Bruce is intermittently throwing blueberries and grapes, and once a kiwi, at Tony, though Tony starts whining at the kiwi, and Peter rolls his eyes, going over to cut it up so he can steal a piece.  Bruce has snuck a futon into the lab, on the first floor where Tony usually works, and he’s stretched out on it, talking about how he hasn’t been to the beach in too long.

 

“We should go,” Peter says, hopping up on one of Tony’s desks and crossing his legs underneath him.  Tony spares him a glare when he moves things out of the way, but Peter just hands out a slice of kiwi, and he takes it happily.  He’s got a little bowl with the tops of strawberries in it, so Peter dumps the skin in there, laughing when Tony holds up a hand, and Bruce throws a grape from his fruit bowl, which is tucked into the crook of his elbow.  “Clint and Natasha are settling into their floor.  I didn’t know they were a thing?”

 

“Yeah, Natasha keeps trying to deny it, but Clint just keeps ignoring her,” Tony says, rolling his eyes.

 

“Steve’s here,” Bruce says as he logs into the cameras on his blue-tinted glass pane, fingers flicking deftly through it.

 

“Go greet him,” Tony says to Peter without looking up.

 

“You have a butler, remember?” Peter grumbles even as he hops off the desk.

 

“Yes, and I have a brat who doesn’t listen, as well.”  He gets up, heading over to the dismembered pieces of a suit, and Peter grabs an apple from Bruce before shooting a string of web at Tony, who manages to duck, and Peter whines loudly while Bruce laughs.

 

When Peter and his apple are gone, Bruce throws a grape toward Tony’s waiting hand and says, “You need a bookshelf in here.”

 

“Listen, don’t think I have noticed you trying to make the lab homey, I’m not blind.  No bookshelves.  You have a library in your hands.”

 

“I like the weight of physical books.”

 

“You’re impossible.”

 

“I’m texting Peter to make plans to go out looking for one.”

 

“Why are you two always conspiring against me?” Tony whines before he flops onto the floor, pouting.  Bruce laughs at him before getting up from the futon and padding barefoot over to him.  He and Tony are having a week of relaxation, and so they’ve been wandering around the Tower in nothing but sweats and t-shirts, hanging out in the lab and the gym, picking on Peter at every opportunity and being obnoxious when he makes them doing movie marathons.

 

Tony looks up as Bruce sits behind him, legs parting around him and lining up with his, arms coming around to circle him, hands settling in his lap.  “You should come cuddle with me downstairs, and we can watch a special on insects and reptiles.”

 

“There better be snakes,” Tony grumbles, and Bruce just smiles softly, kissing him on the cheek before getting them to their feet and tugging Tony away from his toys, fingers laced tightly together.

_Wash the sorrow from off my skin,_

_And show me how to be whole again._

**Author's Note:**

> This is becoming a habit, so I’m just going to stop pretending I care. I mean, when did I write the first one? Almost exactly a year ago? Like, this fandom is weird for me—I’m always gushing over it, but I usually only write when there’s a film out and I have something new to watch over and over again. Although, Erin and I are doing quite a few Marvel films this week. _Anyway_ , what I’m trying to say is that I’m not making any promises at all that installments for this will make any timely sense. You may get the third one in another year, when the next Avengers film has come out, or you may get it next week, it all depends on what my brain is doing.
> 
> On another note, I definitely like the first one _a lot_ more than I like this one, though I quite enjoyed writing this one. I hope everyone that reads enjoys this, as well. I have another fic, not attached to this series, that’s going to be similar to my Steve watching Disney films fic, just absolutely ridiculous, because my brain concocted the idea of Hulk at the beach, so hopefully that’ll get up at some point soon. I’m going to stop rambling now, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


End file.
